


00:41 am

by gasmask



Category: Given (Anime), Given (Manga)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27378844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gasmask/pseuds/gasmask
Summary: He sees Shizusumithat wayso much, that it physically hurts sometimes.
Relationships: Kashima Hiiragi/Yagi Shizusumi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	00:41 am

**Author's Note:**

> for almost six months i thought i couldn't write at all anymore and then Delinquent Princess showed up. 
> 
> 00:41 am is the time i had wanted to go to bed.. it's 4:31 am right now.

It’s in the middle of the night and he wonders what Shizusumi is doing.

It’s not unusual for Hiiragi to do that. Shizusumi is always on his mind, whether he likes it or not, but it’s in the middle of the night, when he is the loneliest with his own thoughts and feelings, that Shizusumi overtakes him. Dominates him, even. When it’s dark outside and everyone has already gone to bed and none of his friends are texting him anymore, when he’s idly plucking at his bass but nothing useful comes of it anymore – _that’s_ when Shizusumi hits him with full force.

Hiiragi slumps back against the side of his bed, eyes trained on the opposite wall. Memories of the day replay in his head, scenes that made his heart skip a beat and had his stomach clench involuntarily, are twisted and turned, and analyzed for possible double meanings.

When he took a sip from Shizusumi’s drink, did it also occur to him that it was basically an indirect kiss they were sharing?

When Shizusumi ruffled his hair, did his hand really linger for longer than necessary?

When they were on the train home and they stood together by the door and listened to their new song with shared headphones on, did Shizusumi also notice how close they were?

Or was it only Hiiragi?

The possibility of such a thing makes his stomach clench, but not in that pleasant, exciting way, like when Shizusumi brushes a stray grain of rice from the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t even want to consider the idea that, maybe, just maybe, Shizusumi doesn’t see him _that way_ at all.

Because he sees Shizusumi _that way_. He sees him _that way_ so much, that it physically hurts sometimes. It makes his chest hurt and his teeth and his stomach and his head and **e v e r y t h i n g** .

The worst is that Shizusumi doesn’t know. That he has no idea that Hiiragi finds himself going in circles about every single interaction between them. That he loses himself in the memory of Shizusumi’s body against his own, his scent in his nose, his voice next to his ear. In the strength of his arms, and the broadness of his chest, and in the low, pleasant rumble of his voice when he just woke up.

And in those moments, he wishes it was Shizusumi touching him. Shizusumi’s hands on his skin, under his clothes, where no one has ever touched Hiiragi before. Not even the girls who like their band and want to impress them by diligently showing up to every live gig. Hiiragi has no interest in them, never has, never will. Even when he talks to them, his gaze drifts off, over to Shizusumi, who has his own share of fans.

And he always wonders.

And he always worries.

One day, one of them might steal Shizusumi away.

He sighs, the sound of it abnormally loud in his otherwise quiet bedroom. If only Shizusumi were here right now. He could cuddle up to him and pretend to be his usual clingy self and profit off of his childhood friend’s seemingly endless patience with him, while secretly taking advantage and fulfilling his need for physical contact.

Truth be told, he doesn’t know how he’d go about it. Telling Shizusumi how he feels is the scariest scenario his imagination can come up with. In his thoughts, when he fantasizes about Shizusumi – and boy, does he fantasize _a. lot._ – that part is never an issue. He always skips over it.

In his mind, they are kissing, and Hiiragi’s arms are locked tight around Shizusumi’s neck and Shizusumi has his arms wrapped around his waist and holds him close. In his mind, one thing leads to another, and, also in his mind, he always does something, like tugging at Shizusumi’s hair too hard or yanking at his shirt, that has Shizusumi chuckle before he calls him a brat or a princess, and _that’s_ what actually makes him blush all the way up to the tips of his ears.

Not the hand he imagines to be Shizusumi’s shoved down his pants, not the fingers playing with his nipples. Not the way his breath leaves him in a shaky, noisy sigh when he strokes himself to a perfect fantasy of Shizusumi pushing him down and looking at him like he’s going to devour him whole.

When he’s like this, he doesn’t let himself worry about how embarrassing it must be to actually do this sort of thing with Shizusumi. How tense he would be. How self-conscious he would be.

Because in this fantasy, it’s Shizusumi who touches him with slow, steady strokes, from base to tip, while watching his face for every single reaction. It’s not his own fingers pinching his nipple and making him jolt with the pleasure-pain it gives him. It’s not his own saliva wet finger that slips between his legs and teases at his hole.

In his head, it’s always, always, _always_ Shizusumi who kisses his thighs and slides his fingers inside him and unravels him until Hiiragi can do nothing else but beg for Shizusumi to just do it already.

And the Shizusumi in his mind always either chuckles or clicks his tongue, and calls him impatient, right before giving him exactly what he wants, how often he wants, when he wants.

Because in his mind they are lovers.

Hiiragi comes with a grunt muffled by gritted teeth and the string of his – _Shizusumi’s_ – hoodie between them.

Finally satisfied and relaxed, he sits there for another moment, and allows himself to enjoy the pleasant static noise in his head. Right until acute loneliness takes ahold of him and shocks him, like an ice cold can of soda pressed against his back on a blazing hot summer day.

He plucks one, two tissues from the box to wipe up the mess on his stomach, then picks up his phone. There’s this weird bit of hope inside him that maybe, through some weird telepathic _best friends since childhood_ connection, Shizusumi knows what’s going on in some way or another.

No new messages, except for a push notification from his email account. Apparently the store he always orders equipment from is having a clearance sale.

Hiiragi huffs, in an attempt to fool himself into thinking he’s merely a tiny bit annoyed. Not exactly so disappointed that his stomach drops because of it and his lips press together into a thin line.

He opens LINE, where his chat with Shizusumi is at the top of the list. He hasn’t even replied to the last message Hiiragi sent him, but it’s marked as _Read_. Rude, Hiiragi finds, but not unusual for Shizusumi.

He scrolls back up through their last messages back and forth. Questions about what Shizusumi is eating, if he did his math homework, whether Hiiragi can sleep over next weekend. He scrolls back down, to his last message – “ok niiice 👌” – and his thumb moves almost mechanically on the keyboard.

> i like you

His cheeks feel hot. His heart thumps against the inside of his ribs. His hand trembles just slightly.

It would be so easy.

If he hit _Send_ , it would be over. He would have taken his shot and told Shizusumi how he feels. It’s really not that hard. Typing those three little words wasn’t hard at all. Hitting _Send_ wouldn’t be hard at all.

But it’s impossible.

So he deletes what he has typed and sends something else.

> you still up?

Almost immediately, Shizusumi begins typing.

> just took a shower

and then,

> you should sleep

_I want to but I wanna do it with you_ , Hiiragi wants to **scream** , but he doesn’t.

> yeah, i’m about to

For once he doesn’t feel like arguing about how the night belongs to musicians and other creative minds.

> alright  
> good night

_I love you, I love you, I love you_ , the voice in Hiiragi’s head shouts, but he types,

> niiight 🌃

He waits another moment. A moment that stretches to a minute and then into five minutes, but Shizusumi doesn’t write anything else.

He’s probably fast asleep by the time Hiiragi kicks off his pants and socks, but keeps on the hoodie Shizusumi forgot at his place months ago and never asked about. He climbs under blankets that are too light to simulate the heaviness of Shizusumi’s body, and not warm enough to allow for pretending that it’s Shizusumi’s warmth that envelops him.

But it will do.

As always, it will do.

**Author's Note:**

> this miiiiight get a follow up fic that deals with shizusumi's pov. maybe. perhapsely. if my brain worms are in a good mood.


End file.
